Clopin In Neverland
by The Fishkeeper
Summary: When Tinkerbell falls in love with Clopin's puppet and takes Clopin to Neverland, Esmeralda is crazy with worry that he is gone.
1. Chapter 1: Tinkerbell's Arrival

Clopin in Neverland

Chapter One: Tinkerbell's Arrival

_This is a Hunchback of Notre Dame and Peter Pan crossover inspired by an idea for a picture that *someday* will get drawn. Basically, Tinkerbell fell in love with Clopin's puppet, whom I have named Pierre. It takes place after both movies. Clopin is unhappy and a little jealous that Phoebus and Esmeralda are together. Peter Pan and Tink are just, well, the usual._

_(And girls, I love Phoebus just as much as the rest of you. But I love Clopin too, and I had to do him justice. Besides, Phoebus got Esme anyway. So, when Clopin insults Phoebus or anything like that, just know it's him, not me. Lol)_

_It's understood that when Pierre speaks, it is really Clopin. And Tinkerbell can "talk" to Peter Pan; that is, he can understand her. _

* * *

Their flight over the real world was warm and only a little breezy.

A perfect night. The moon was a silver sliver in the partly cloudy night sky. It shone milky gray and shadowy on the city below. The city, asleep and unaware.

Except for those wishing on a star, making underhanded arrangements or sneaking around the back alleys of Notre Dame, everybody was asleep and didn't notice Peter Pan and Tinkerbell flying across the sky.

"This is crazy, Tink," Peter Pan said, alighting on a balcony of Notre Dame. He pushed his hat back to scratch his head. His hand was out flat in front of him with the blonde fairy, Tinkerbell, standing on his palm.

She tossed her head; her hair flipped out of her eyes. _Think what you like, _she seemed to say,_ I don't care._

"Aw, it's just – We can't take somebody from here to Neverland if he doesn't want to go." Peter gazed around at the sleeping city.

Tinkerbell shook her fists and stomped furiously. _What about that girl and all those children you took last time? It's MY turn!_

"Oh, all right," Peter agreed grumpily. He tugged on his hat and jumped off the balcony rail. They zoomed down together to the Parisian streets where the large gypsy cart was parked.

* * *

Clopin sighed; his cheek sank further into his palm and his chin inched closer to the empty wine bottle in his left hand lying horizontally on the sideboard of his wagon. He hiccupped morosely.

"Oh Esmeralda, jewel of the Court, finest dancer in Paris –! …" he slouched even more and tipped the bottle far back. It slammed on the board, rattling the row of puppet props and causing a couple to drop to the floor.

"…GONE with that _pretty boy_, that_ Captain_ Oh-so-golden-haired-and-_muscular_ Phoebus! I should've strung him up by his thick neck when I had the chance…"

Clopin couldn't have noticed the landing of Peter Pan outside his wagon for Peter, as always, was noiseless. Clopin didn't hear Tinkerbell's bell-like wings as she tried to find a way into the wagon. Not in the state he was in did Clopin even realize there was no more wine in the bottle.

"I'm ruined. Paris is saved but I'm ruined," he contemplated, thinking of the loss of Esmeralda's dancing. I can't make a decent living off _just_ puppets." He glanced briefly at the miniature Clopin puppet in front of him. "No offense, Pierre."

Pierre's large button eyes stared back blankly.

"None taken," he piped.

Clopin turned away with a detached expression on his face and listlessly dropped the bottle on the floor. It cracked.

Tinkerbell fluttered just outside the boarded window. The slightly faded paintings of Clopin's puppets smiled straight at her from the wood. She brushed their faces affectionately with her hand.

Then she pounded impatiently on one's nose, trying to get in.

Peter Pan stood back on his heels, arms crossed smugly until Tink shot him an angry glare. Clearly, she wanted him to help. He rolled his eyes. Putting his fingers in his mouth, he gave a sharp whistle, loud enough to wake the dead.

Inside, Clopin started up, bonked his head on the ceiling, and viciously took off the window board to see what had made the noise. The board swung down, nearly squishing Tinkerbell, who moved out of the way just in time, chinkling indignantly.

"Who's whistling at this time of night?" Clopin called out. "Not everyone in the world is as happy" he focused on Peter "as you."

Tinkerbell flew upward to Clopin's nose and tinkled excitedly, her face aglow. But only for a moment; Clopin batted her away before she could make him understand.

Peter Pan stepped forward.

"Tinkerbell," he exclaimed, scandalized, "he's an _ADULT_!"

Clopin scowled at Peter, pulled up the window board, and shut it tight. Tinkerbell just managed to dart in before it closed completely.

"No, wait – Tink!" Peter slapped his hand on the board, then gave it a hearty shove with his shoulder.

Now inside, Tinkerbell zoomed around, looking for something. Her tiny hands were balled into fists.

Clopin's head swiveled in effort to follow her whizzing movements. His head was so muddled he couldn't see her clearly.

"What are you, little creature?" he asked, clawing the air to catch her.

Tinkerbell stopped flying. She made a jingling sound, delighted at what she had spotted. Another second and she had zipped down to sit beside Clopin's puppet, Pierre, who was still sitting on the sideboard, gloved hands held out wide. Tink scooted sideways and kept sneaking bashful looks at the puppet.

Clopin's eyes lit up. "Ah, mon Cherie has l'amour for mon ami, Pierre!" he exclaimed. He tapped his long, pointed nose knowingly. "Pierre," he scolded, scooping the puppet onto his hand, "you didn't tell me you had a lady friend."

Tinkerbell fluttered eagerly, nodding in agreement with Clopin's words.

"I wanted to surprise you!" Pierre cheeped, with his usual dimpled smile.

Tinkerbell grasped Pierre's hand. She tugged on him and pointed at the closed window, then up.

"I don't understand, little fairy," Clopin said, frowning. He bent down, lowering the puppet to look Tinkerbell in the eye.

Tinkerbell made a series of hand movements and gestures indicating that she wanted to take Pierre outside to see Peter and then fly to Neverland and live happily ever after.

But Clopin, of course, didn't understand.

So he opened the window, coming suddenly face to face with Peter Pan, who was rubbing a bruise on his cheek where the board had hit him.

"Ow!" he whined.

Clopin raised an eyebrow. "What were you doing?"

"I was trying to get Tinkerbell back – wait. _How can you see me?_"

Clopin's eyebrow rose further. Then he smiled. "You are a strange boy." He turned to Tinkerbell. She was wildly chinkling to Peter and pointing at Pierre. Because Clopin had his elbow resting along the windowsill, the puppet was face down.

"Is this _your_ fairy?" Clopin asked Peter.

"Tink! Come here, Tink," Pete called. He made a grab for her and caged her in his fingers.

"Yeah, this is Tinkerbell. And I'm Peter Pan." Peter rubbed his chin, puzzled. "I still don't get why you can see me though. Cuz you're an – _ADULT_."

Clopin prided himself on his good connection with children; they loved him because he was like them. Offended, he put his face very close to Peter's so their noses were almost touching.

"Excuse me for nosing," he snapped, "but the little lady had something to say. You seem to be ignoring her."

Tinkerbell pouted. Her lower lip poked out and she peered through Peter's fingers like they were prison bars.

The corners of Peter's mouth went down and his nose wrinkled in an expression of affront. He frowned.

"All right, Tink," he released her, "What is it?"

At first, Tinkerbell just strutted indignantly around in midair. Then she stood next to face down Pierre, her hands on her hips.

"Come on Tinkerbell," Peter cajoled, "You can tell me." He shot Clopin a cross look. "I wanna hear."

So Tinkerbell told him.

"What did she say, M'sieur Pan?" Clopin asked, spreading his hand(s).

Peter looked as if he had been forced to eat raw vegetables.

"She says she has fallen in love with –" he pointed at Pierre "_that_, and wants to take him to Neverland." His hand sliced through the air. "But that's NOT gonna happen!" he added fiercely.

"Neverland? Who's that?"

Peter Pan looked Clopin's wagon up and down. "It's my place," he replied.

Glancing at the amorous Tinkerbell, Clopin raised his eyebrows again. Seldom had the street children who watched his puppet shows shown such affection for his puppet self.

Only ever Esmeralda. When she was a little girl.

Clopin swallowed hard. _The wine_, he thought as he felt tears prickle in his eyes at the memory of her soft little brown hands clapping in delight at Pierre's antics. Or her gentle touch when she helped him mend a popped seam.

Clopin raised his puppet hand to look at Pierre. The fixed smile, happy expression, oversized gloves.

Why not go? If not just to please Tinkerbell, his new devotee, to spite Esmeralda, he thought with a reckless burst. Bitterness made him daring. And jealousy.

Peter Pan called to Tinkerbell.

She didn't come.

He called again.

She looked beseechingly up at Clopin, big tears wobbling under her eyelashes.

Finally, Pierre spoke up.

"Let's go, Tinkerbell! I want to see Neverland!"

Peter Pan scowled darkly. "But Tink –!"

But Tink was just a blur of blonde and green as she spun around in happiness, filling the air with golden pixie dust.

* * *

_If ya don't hate, please rate!_

_Keep checking in for more chapters! I promise Esmeralda and Captain Hook are gonna be in the same shtoree!_


	2. Chapter 2: Clopin's Hat

Chapter 2: Clopin's Hat

* * *

"Faith, trust, and pixie dust," Clopin repeated skeptically.

"Yeah. Ya got it," Peter Pan said, still frowning at him. "But I bet it won't work on a _GROWN-UP_."

Tinkerbell, however, had deepest faith in Clopin/Pierre. She eagerly wriggled as much golden pixie dust onto Clopin, who had donned his large purple hat.

Her eyes shining, Tinkerbell looked at Pierre as if to ask, _Are you ready?_

Ready or not, Clopin's feet began to rise off the ground of their own accord. He cried out in surprise. It was a strange sensation to feel like he was falling slowly up. His legs were almost straight up in the air. He was not entirely unaccustomed to being upside down, as he did handsprings and back flips often enough. It was the floating part that was unnerving.

Clutching his hat to his head with one hand, Clopin screwed his eyes shut and shouted,

"MAMA! _AU_ _SECOURS_!"

By now, it looked like Clopin was sitting down upside down.

Peter Pan, floating expertly himself, clapped Clopin's mouth shut with one hand – "Do you _want _everybody to wake up?" – and booted him into the proper position for flying; It was as if Clopin were lying on his stomach with his arms and legs stretched out.

Once he realized that he was actually safe, Clopin whispered in amazement, "Magnifique!" Slowly, his face split into a grin.

"Ha ha! I'm flying!"

With building confidence, Clopin soared upwards, followed closely by Tinkerbell.

Peter Pan mumbled grudgingly, "Here we go!" and took off after them.

Clopin and Tinkerbell flew though the air, stars overhead.

"Tinkerbell!" Clopin said, chuckling, "Look down!"

Peter Pan stared in dismay at Clopin's wagon. It was glittering with all of Tink's scattered pixie dust and was doggedly creaking in an effort to rise off the ground.

Clopin laughed out loud, giddy with flight. He spread out his arms on either side of him and sailed over and around Notre Dame Cathedral. He spotted Quasimodo leaning out of one of the windows, chin in hand.

The hunchback nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise at seeing Clopin's purple-clad body and yellow feather fly past. Quasimodo's jaw dropped in wonder.

Clopin whisked a finger in salute, winked, and flashed Quasimodo a large smile.

Quasimodo was too astonished to utter a word before Clopin had streaked away toward the moon.

* * *

"Esmeralda Esmeralda!"

Quasimodo waved his hands frantically when he spotted his gypsy friend standing on the Seine Bridge with Captain Phoebus. He skidded to a halt, breathing hard.

Esmeralda and Phoebus broke apart.

"Quasimodo," Esmeralda asked, unperturbed by his untimely interruption. "What's the matter?"

"I-I-I-saw-that-gypsy-who-tried-to-hang-us-fly-over-Notre-Dame!" he gasped out.

Phoebus rubbed the side of his neck, looking a little fazed. "Er Quasimodo, do you mind? Could it wait?" He glanced at Esmeralda.

Esmeralda's green eyes were wide open, in complete confusion.

"…Clopin?" she finally made out from Quasimodo's outburst.

Quasimodo nodded. "I saw him – flying – he was flying –" He pointed back at the bell towers of Notre Dame. "Up there. I saw him."

"I've seen him do handsprings and somersaults. But flying –" Phoebus said doubtfully.

"Maybe you had a dream about Clopin," Esmeralda suggested, putting her hand on Quasimodo's arm.

"No," he shook his head. "He even winked at me and did this." He pointed his finger Clopin-ishly.

Phoebus's eyebrows flew up. He turned around, leaving Quasimodo to Esmeralda's care. She spared him an annoyed glance before saying to Quasimodo, "Look. Phoebus and I will check on Clopin in the morning. I'm sure he's fine."

Quasimodo blinked uncertainly.

She smiled at him.

"Okay," he melted, and turned to return to the cathedral.

Once Quasimodo was gone, Phoebus inquired, "What was that all about?"

Esmeralda leaned her arms on the stone bridge rail and looked down at the flowing Seine dreamily.

"I have no idea," she replied. "You know, that's where I saved you from Judge Frollo." She nodded toward the marshy riverbank at the foot of the bridge.

"Yeah. I don't remember," Phoebus joked. He turned her towards him by her shoulders. "I don't think I ever thanked you for that."

He leaned closer.

Esmeralda suddenly gasped, and wrenched herself out of his grasp.

"Esmeralda –!" Phoebus exclaimed.

She was walking, backing up, her head tilted back, staring up at the sky. Phoebus ran over to her.

"Esmeralda what's the matt –"

She pointed, with a frown between her eyes.

Phoebus looked over his shoulder, craning his neck to see.

The large purple object drifted to the ground several feet away from them.

"What the –?" Phoebus began.

"It's his hat. It's Clopin's hat," Esmeralda said in a low, puzzled voice. She walked over and lifted it up gently. "It can't be."


	3. Chapter 3: Falling and Flying

**Chapter 3: Falling and Flying**

* * *

"Oh dang," said Pierre, watching Clopin's hat waft downwards.

Clopin shrugged his shoulders, looking at his puppet with a blasé expression. He continued flying. "It was just an old hat," he said simply. "A keepsake. Something for memories."

He glanced surreptitiously down at the bridge so far below where he had carefully dropped his hat.

_Farewell, La Esmeralda. Remember me. _

La Esmeralda and Phoebus were once more in each other's embrace.

…_And eat your heart out!_

Suddenly, the air turned warmer as Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, and Clopin flew through a cloud. Looking below, was Neverland.

Peter Pan pulled up and landed lightly on the edge of the cloud. The sky was still night dark, but the moon shone well. Clopin stood next to him and peered over.

"Oh la laa!" he breathed, in wonder.

It was a lush island in the middle of tropic blue water. A ship was anchored beside it, its sails shadowed. Clopin had never seen anything like it. Far from the cold and dirty streets of Paris, Neverland was paradise.

"Quick – get down!" Peter suddenly shouted. He dove at Clopin, who tumbled and rolled over.

There was a loud BOOM, and a large black something whizzed over their heads.

Tinkerbell recovered herself and began to scold at the ship below. Peter helped Clopin up.

"Sorry 'bout that," he apologized wryly. "I should've remembered."

Before Clopin could ask just what Peter Pan should've remembered, another ball sailed at them again. Clopin teetered on the edge of the cloud, wind-milling his arms. And fell.

He spread his arms to fly, but the magic was gone. "No! No no _no_ NO!" With a scream stuck in his throat, he watched the water rushing closer and closer. Irrationally, he tried to pull himself up, thinking that by righting himself instead of aiming head first he might somehow never hit the water.

He hurtled in anyway. A deafening sound and a lot of white surrounded him. Eyes screwed shut, he struggled to the surface.

"Agh!" He spat out a fountain of water and flapped his hands and arms to stay afloat.

Pierre was gone. His hands were bare of puppets.

But then there was a little pop next to him and another thing surfaced, coughing and spluttering.

"Gah! I can't swim!"

"Pi_erre_?" Clopin exclaimed, eyes widening in amazement.

Pierre turned to him. "Help!"

Clopin seized Pierre, more to feel if he was really what he was seeing than to save him from drowning.

"Whew, thank you." Pierre wiped his brow.

"_Mon ami_" Clopin shook his head incredulously "This is a magical night."

* * *

The Court of Miracles was still celebrating the fall of Judge Frollo's regime and their new freedom. A couple days had passed, in which those wounded in the Battle of Notre Dame had been treated. But afterwards, Clopin had issued a grand feast. Dancing, food, wine, music…the gypsies couldn't get enough of it. The people of Paris were celebrating as well. Celebrating Quasimodo, the hunchback who had saved Paris from Frollo's maniacal control.

It was nearly impossible to find someone sober who knew anything about Clopin Troillefeu. Everyone was sleeping off their festive hangovers. Esmeralda could find no one who had seen Clopin later than the dance earlier that night. None of her gypsy friends could comprehend her questions, or even stay awake to listen.

Quasimodo joined her and Phoebus, having spotted them riding double on Phoebus' horse, Achilles, up the Notre Dame steps.

"Esmeralda? What is it?" Quasi asked worriedly, noting her crestfallen expression. He looked at the hat she gripped in her hand and exclaimed, "That's his hat!"

Esmeralda slipped off Achilles' back. "I know," she said huskily.

"Quasimodo, I think I believe you." She lowered her eyes.

Phoebus dismounted and put his arm around her.

Quasi waited for her to continue.

"I – I just don't know how." She looked back at Quasi. "I've looked everywhere for him. Except – " She stopped and knit her brows.

"What is it, Esmeralda?" Quasi asked, holding her hand comfortingly. Phoebus dismissed this in light of their friendship and the circumstances.

Esmeralda turned around, gazing at the city.

"His wagon." She turned back to them and explained, "His puppet show. I didn't check his wagon." Her face lit with hope. She gripped the ragged rim of Clopin's hat determinedly and jumped back onto Achilles.

"Wait," Quasi said.

"We're going with you," Phoebus finished.

When they finally reached Clopin's wagon, the streets were quiet and dark. There was no light from inside the wagon.

Esmeralda broke into a silent run, her bare feet making only quiet slaps on the cobbles. She peered through the window. A flood of memories washed over her as she touched the wood where Clopin had staged his puppet shows. She smiled fondly at the memory. Then, remembering why she had come, she called softly, "Clopin? Clopin, are you awake?"

"No" he should've moaned, with his hand glued to his forehead in the unforgettable, Clopin-ish gesture of a bad hangover.

But he didn't. He wasn't there.

"Clopin!" She rushed around and went in through the back. The wood floor against her feet made loud hollow sounds, amplifying the fact that the wagon was empty.

The wagon was in a bit of a mess (it usually was). Smashed wine bottle, puppets strewn about…Where was he?

She knelt and brushed her fingertips against the broken glass, grazing her finger.

There was a footstep behind her. Phoebus.

Whatever he thought of Clopin's private sanctuary, he didn't say. Though if she had been facing him, she would've seen the expression he wore: slightly pursed lip, arched eyebrow, roving gaze.

"He's gone," Esmeralda whispered. She sat back against the wall, her knees drawn up. Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she harshly brushed them away.

Quasimodo pushed past Phoebus. "Don't cry, Esmeralda," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Phoebus knelt on one knee in front of her, barely avoiding the broken glass. His arm rested dashingly on his knee.

"We'll find him," Quasi said softly, though he was thinking of Clopin flying who-knows-where.

Phoebus smiled gently at her and put out his hand to help her up. She took it and stood up, immediately swept into his tall embrace.

"We will," he said. He looked her in the eyes and grinned. "Trust me?"

She smiled back and put her hand in his. "Yes."

Quasimodo smiled, relieved.

Suddenly, the floor lurched beneath their feet. Quasimodo slammed against the wall and Esmeralda into the sideboard. Phoebus fell completely to the floor.

There was another wild lurch. This time up, not sideways.

Quasi and Esmeralda lost their balance again, then grabbed each other to stay on their feet. They both looked out the window at the same time.

Esmeralda covered a scream with her hand. Quasimodo leaned out further for a better look.

"No don't!" Esmeralda cried, pulling him back by his shirt. "Quasi – we – we're flying!

* * *

Notice that bit of "faith and trust"? It's supposed to be Quasi had faith and Esme had trust, which was what the old wagon and the pixie dust needed to get started flying again. Anyway! It's not too late! Please rate!


	4. Chapter 4: Many Happy Returns

The long-awaited…

CHAPTER FOUR: MANY HAPPY RETURNS

by The Fishkeeper

There is not much to be said to a pirate who has lost his hand and his pride to the boy who could fly. So naturally, Smee was at quite a loss when he found the door to the captain's cabin locked. He had tried coaxing, banging, begging, threatening (pathetic as it turned out), singing, pretending to be dead, and swearing every piratical vow that he had Peter Pan tied to a barrel ready to be rolled off the plank to get a reply from the other side of the door.

And nothing had worked. There wasn't a sound. Finally, Smee was reduced, for lack of any other bright ideas, to drowsily repeating the same word. Over. And over. And over.

"Cap'n…cap'n…cap'n…cap'n…"

By now, a crowd of unusually sober pirates had gathered aft, forming an uneasy, shuffling, grunting crescent before the captain's cabin. Smee was slumped against the frame of the door, face pressed close to the keyhole, continuing doggedly till the native hue of resolution was sicklied o'er.

"Cap'n…cap'n…cap'n…cap'n…"

For what is there to do on a ship with no captain?

For that matter, what is there to do in Neverland with no pirates?

The Lost Boys had quickly discovered the answer to that question. Since the pirates had been chased off by the notorious crocodile, and Peter had returned the Wendy Lady and John and George home, there was a distinct amount of nothing to do.

"Hey, Curly, whaddya wanna do?"

"I don't know, Slightly, whaddo you wanna do?"

"I dunno. When'dya think Peter'll be back?"

"I dunno."

"Gee, it ain't much fun like this, is it."

"Well…whaddya think we should do?"

"I dunno. Guess we oughta just go...I dunno."

Without a mother to tell them a story, without a crew of pirates to threaten their mortal lives, and without anyone to lead their mischief, a sort of boring hot summer had settled over Neverland. The island and everyone on it was, in seafarer's terms, "becalmed." All the wind of excitement had blown itself to another world and time. Wendy and her brothers were gone home. Hook and his pirates were defeated. And Peter and Tink had grown increasingly restless, traveling off for distant adventures. The title of the boys who were left behind had taken on a new meaning.

Within the sanctuary of the cabin of his lately-stolen-now-recovered ship, Captain Hook was laid out on the bed, arms flung out and sleeves in tatters. Miraculously escaped and yet still swallowed in his own downfall, he seemed to lie still as a dead man. Rising slowly, he limped to the gilded mirror that hung over his desk like a devilish angel. With each step, he flinched at the figure of his fallen self drawing near. Hair standing on end, twitching eyes rimmed with black and blue, mustache limp and crooked, hand trembling, hookless. In desolation, he stared before him, weakly. Almost soundlessly, he uttered the words,

"I'm a codfish...I'm a codfish."

"…cap'n…cap'n…"

"...codfish...codfish."

"…cap'n…cap'n…"

"…Codfish…CODFISH!"

Hook howled in misery, bowing his once-great frame and slamming the desk with his missing hand.

The droning of his first mate finally ceased. The silence was filled with the sound of the self-proclaimed codfish's sobs.

Until, "CAP'N, PETER PAN IS BACK!"

Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs. This was the doing of that boy.

The snapping, ticking jaws of the crocodile, his one confessed weakness, had slavered after him because of that fiend in green. Peter Pan.

Smee was thrown aside as the cabin door was furiously swung open. Crushed against the stairway to the foc'sle, Smee sunk down, eyes crossed, glasses staring up at an angle. The huddle of pirates gave a great start at the sight of their captain scarred and wild for revenge. His snarling face searched the skies. Never in this land had such a sight been seen. In this moment, the plotting, doting pirate captain was replaced by a soul of pure crazy malice.

"Cannons, Mister Smee." The black eyes narrowed. The stubbly grin widened. "And bring me my hook."

Smee bobbed to his sandaled feet and stuttered, "Y-yes, cap'n."

With each twist, the ghastly golden glinting hook seemed to take over the scene. The pirates were hushed and Smee sighed happily as the captain raised it to his face.

"YOU HEARD WHAT I SAID YOU DITHERING IDJUTS!"

"You heard what the cap'n said." Smee straightened his glasses. "Cannons!"

There was no need to tell them twice. A bedlam of bandanas, bare feet, beards, and busyness broke out.

With a delighted giggle, Smee shook hands with the pirate who was shaking in his shoes next to him. "Cap'n's back!"

A rush of wind filled the sails.

Captain Hook was back.


End file.
